Leath. Kiss your hole and smell! there’s manners indeed.
Pup. Lean. Why, Cole, I say, Cole!
Leath. Is’t the sculler you need?
Pup. Lean. Ay, and be hanged.
Leath. Be hang’d! look you yonder.
Old Cole, you must go hang with master Leander.
Pup. Cole. Where is he?
Pup. Lean. Here, Cole: what fairest of fairs,
Was that fare that thou landedst but now at Trig-stairs?